


Remember Mimi and Alex

by Lempo Soi (Lemposoi)



Category: Boston Legal
Genre: 1000-3000 words, Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Watersports, challenge: kink_bingo, over 1000 words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-02
Updated: 2009-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-04 19:52:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemposoi/pseuds/Lempo%20Soi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reminiscence leads to re-enactment.<br/>PLEASE note the tags and rating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember Mimi and Alex

"I guess this is it," sighed Alan Shore as he surveyed the skyline of Boston from the armchair that years had shaped to fit his bottom perfectly. Beside him sat his husband, nursing a glass of scotch. Behind them, the glass doors opened to an office stripped bare of all personal effects, including Denny's prize salmon (which Alan had caught), the sex doll called Shirley Schmidt-ho, and his seven office guns.

"I guess it is," grunted Denny Crane. "We had some good times. Eh?"

"The best." Alan had said goodbye to Chang, Poole and Schmidt months ago and now made his nightly trip from his own, less glamorous offices across the town to have a drink on the balcony more for Denny's sake than nostalgia's. From now on, they'd have to drink their Scotch on their own house's porch, and frankly it would be a time-saver.

"Damn Chinese," muttered Denny, leaning back with the shot still untouched in his hand, and snorted. "You know, I used to love going to Hong Kong. It was so extravagant in the old days, and always crawling with Americans. Everybody wanted some American dollar. And the prostitutes, oh." He gave Alan a twinkling look.

"Why do you think it is, Denny, that every story you tell about a foreign county eventually turns to prostitutes?"

"All good stories are about prostitutes," Denny said, finally downing his drink. "There was this one girl, or woman – she was no spring chicken, if you know what I mean. Mimi, that's what she called herself. She had a waist so tiny I could wrap my two hands around it. She had the most amazing muscular construction in her lady parts. This was back in the 70s. Do you know what she did?"

"I am all a-gog to hear it," said Alan calmly.

"We went to this tiny little room at the back of the club," Denny said, waving his hands as if to draw that long-gone room in the chill night air. "We got naked on a rubber mattress on the floor. She talked a lot, but I could barely make it out, with her accent so thick and all my blood flowing away from the brain, if you know what I mean. She was riding me, squeezing me, just riding and riding and... I was right there, right about to – unleash the stream, when she... unleashed her stream."

Alan took a moment to piece together the meaning of this. "She peed on you, you mean."

"Turns out it was one of her specialities. Seemed the management thought I'd asked for it, but I hadn't, or hadn't meant to, in any case. It came as a total surprise. Here I am, about to get to to the finish line, and there's this warm flood all around me, on my hips and stomach and thighs..."

"It must have been something of a shock."

"I loved it," sighed Denny, eyes glassy as if gazing back through the years. "One of the best orgasms I ever had. I paid double at the door. I wish I could remember her name."

"I didn't know you were into watersports, Denny," said Alan, amused. "You certainly never mentioned it before."

"Well, it's not very becoming, is it?" said Denny, waving a hand. "I couldn't ask that from the prostitutes around here, let alone the women I date. People know me here! I'm Denny Crane! You can't trust a woman not to go to the press when it's something as interesting as Denny Crane wanting to be peed on during sex. Couple that with that old court case about toilet solicitation, well."

"Denny, you tell the press you prefer paying for prostitutes to dating, and everybody knows about that thing with sheep. Why is this any different?"

"Going to prostitutes is only normal, everybody does it, it's stale when it comes to newsworthiness. Nobody can really prove the sheep thing. This is different. There's actual social stigma attached." He poured a new shot of Scotch and sat back, rolling it in his glass with a thoughtful frown. "I'm telling you because you're my friend. I can trust you."

"That you can."

They sat quietly for a while.

"Have you ever... you know?" asked Denny.

"I have not had a Hong Kong prostitute with remarkable vaginal musculature pee on me at the point of orgasm, no," said Alan. "However, I am not a complete stranger to that particular kind of play. An old flame once persuaded me to... well."

"What?"

Alan cleared his throat and locked his gaze somewhere in the neutral middle distance. "You have told me before that there are particulars in my past experiences that you are not comfortable discussing..."

"Oh no." Denny groaned. "It was a man, wasn't it?"

"It was. We were lovers back in the late 80s. In retrospect it was rather foolish, as it was hardly the safest sex I've ever had. We were lucky, as it turns out."

"Well..." Denny looked away from Alan, seeming unhappy, but said in the end, "Tell me anyway."

Alan did.

After he finished, he glanced over at Denny. Denny's eyes were fixed in a point somewhere above the balcony fence, and his breathing was coming fast. Alan thought of heart-attacks and sat up, alarmed, but then he noticed where Denny's hand was. He was kneading his crotch.

"Denny," said Alan, "are you...?"

"Alan," said Denny in a choked voice. "Would you. Would you do that for me?"

"What, right now?" Alan glanced back at the empty office. Most people were gone by this time, but not all, and in any event that still left them visible to anybody in any of the the nearby tall office buildings who happened to have binoculars at hand and took an interest.

Denny seemed to hesitate, his hand still in his crotch, squeezing as if to contain what was within. "Well, not here. Can't do it here. It'd make a mess."

"At the very least," said Alan, frowning. "In any case, the answer is no."

"Oh, come, please," said Denny, giving Alan such an imploring look he almost relented then and there. "We're married. It's practically your conjugal duty. And we both got checked just last week, too."

"You're not thinking clearly. Besides, you've been drinking whiskey and Scotch all day."

"But you'd consider it if I hadn't?"

Alan studied him. Theirs was a delicately balanced marriage, capable of taking only so much sex before the line between sham and genuine was irreparably compromised, and Alan still feared that point. He hesitated to provide something sexual for Denny that he would not be able to get elsewhere. Then again, wasn't sex with a man already that, for Denny?

He remembered the conversation they'd had after the first time one of their sleepovers had turned... special.

_"You're thinking this is a little bit gay, aren't you?" Denny had asked. _

"Actually, yes. Which we are not, as I recall."

"You're a, what do you call 'em, a switch," Denny had grunted. "So sleeping with you_ doesn't make _me_ gay."_

"I'll consider it if you still want it tomorrow night," Alan said at last, "and stick to water and juice."

*

"Well I'll be damned," said Alan Shore as he dropped the keys into the bowl in the corridor. The lights were dimmed, candles were lit on the dining table between two covered plates, and there in the living room stood Denny Crane with a bouquet of roses, wearing a tux and an expectant smile.

"Denny Crane, more sober than it's healthy for a man to be," said Denny cheerfully. "It's only cranberry juice in the bottle, too. I went online, turns out drinking juice makes your piss taste better."

"You don't beat about the bush, do you?"

"Why should I?" asked Denny. "You don't even have one."

"Well, I'm starving," said Alan and tossed his coat over a chair in the hallway. "Thank you, Denny."

"So, will you do it?"

"We'll talk after dinner." Alan took the roses with a small smile and went into the kitchen to find a bowl.

"You're beginning to sound alarmingly like my third wife," said Denny with a frown. "I haven't had a drink all day, Alan! All day!"

"Then it's about time you start, isn't it?" said Alan, picked a bottle of red wine from their kitchen stash and popped the cork. He needed a drink. Sober, he might chicken out. With that thought came the realization that he was, in fact, going to do it, wise or not.

Maybe it had been the roses. He'd always been a sucker for the old-fashioned kind of foreplay.

*

Denny's house – Alan still thought of it in those terms, even after months of officially living there – had a bathroom that more closely resembled a small spa, complete with a sauna, three showers, a jacuzzi and an exotic rubber plant. Alan had been naked in it with Denny often before, as they both preferred going to the sauna au naturel. Denny had also confessed once that he liked the feel of tiny bubbles tickling his balls. Alan had crossed his legs then, and waited patiently for the sudden arousal to disappear.

He had learned better than to initiate sex with Denny, ever.

Alan was flattered and gratified to see the bathroom, too, had been set all around with candles. Denny had really gone all out – and been pretty sure of Alan's co-operation too, it seemed.

Alan was in his shirtsleeves, but Denny was already wearing nothing but a pink morning-robe. "Let's get naked," he said, grinning excitedly. Romance had a habit of fleeing as soon as Denny Crane opened his mouth, but Alan smiled and made to undo his shirt buttons. He had only got to the third button by the time Denny grabbed hold of his head with both hands and pulled him down for a kiss.

Maybe it was the wine swelling around in his belly, but Alan suddenly felt light-headed. He grasped the shoulders of Denny's morning robe and began to push it off. Denny's tongue in his, softly probing, tasted like tart red wine.

There was the sound of ripping cloth as Alan's $200 shirt was torn open, buttons scattering across the bathroom tiles. Denny shoved Alan against the bathroom wall, his hand roaming across Alan's chest, down his belly, until it reached his trousers. Denny began to tuck them open. Alan's dick was throbbing.

It was crazy. Alan had always had more girlfriends than boyfriends, and most of those boyfriends had been pretty young things, but here was this 70-year-old red-faced Republican with a protruding belly and Alan could have sworn he was the sexiest thing on earth, from his toupee to his plump hairy toes. Not to mention, he loved him. It was a damned fix for an honest reprobate to find himself in. There was no time to think, though, with Denny's tongue in his mouth and the memory of old playtime with Alex bubbling up and tangling with the present.

"Dammit! You're hard," said Denny as he pushed Alan's trousers down.

"I'm sorry, Denny," said Alan, breathing heavily and growing harder by the moment. Just seeing Denny eye his exposed flesh made it jump and stand to attention.

"Well, we'll have to do it the other way around first, then," said Denny. "You've got to hurry. I've been holding this in for a while. Get on your knees, Alan. Please."

Alan complied, kicking off the rest of his trousers and getting down on his knees, his head still buzzing, naked in the candlelight and about the exercise a skill he'd not practised in years. Fortunately, it was like riding a bicycle, in more ways than one.

Denny threw aside his bathrobe.

Denny's cock was flaccid, but Alan saw it twitch even as he watched. It was a short plump thing, like Denny himself, and it jumped as Alan took it in his hand, fascinated once again by its every detail, of it's leftward tilt.

Denny groaned. "Please."

Alan closed his mouth over the tip, let his tongue roll around it once, and then retreated, holding the dick at the right angle. He nodded up at Denny with a quick, heady grin and opened his mouth.

Denny's face was naked with emotion – though what, Alan could not tell. Then, with a sigh of satisfaction, Denny let loose.

A strong stream of warm, only slightly bitter piss washed into Alan's mouth, on his cheeks, and trickled down his chest and onto the shining tiles. Alan opened his eyes just a fraction to glance at the mirror set by the jacuzzi, to see himself on his knees in front of Denny, being showered in piss. The reprobate in him stirred to life, singing, as it hadn't since Lorraine. No, since before that.

Alan felt electric.

As the stream grew less, he grabbed Denny's hips eagerly and took his cock in his mouth, rolling the hot liquid around in this mouth. Denny grunted, remarkably like a pig, and Alan took the member deep into his mouth until its head was nestling in his throat. The piss splashed from his mouth splattered them both, and Denny made a whimpering sound at the back of his throat, as his dick went from semi to full hard-on, and he bucked up into Alan's mouth.

If there was one thing Alan prided himself on, it was his oral talent. He pulled back, let his tongue tease the head again, suckled on the tip, and finally began to take Denny in deep again, time and time again in a quickening rhythm. His fingers found Denny's balls and he rolled them in his hands. Denny's grabbed his head and forced it against himself, defining his own rhythm. He was face-fucking Alan, but Alan didn't mind, because this was fucking it for him, Denny in his mouth, grunting harder until he half-screamed his own name and Alan felt something else that was warm and liquid splash in the back of his mouth.

His dick was so hard it was literally hurting.

Alan fell back, panting, and wiped his mouth. Denny fell on his knees in front of him, his face red and his eyes shining. Alan moaned and took his own cock in his hand, beginning to stroke it, but Denny patted his hand away.

"Denny, please," Alan breathed. "I have to..."

"Let me," said Denny, and wrapped his hand around Alan's cock. Alan groaned and fell back on his hands, pumping up into Denny's hand.

The orgasm, when it came, curled his toes against the tiles, and blocked out the candlelight and the bathroom and even Denny's delighted face, leaving him bare.

*

"That was wonderful," said Denny for the third time when they were sitting, scrubbed and sweating, in the sauna. He said it again after they'd toweled off and were having a beer each in the living room by the fireplace, wrapped in bathrobes and pleasantly pink from the heat.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Alan laughed. "Thank you for the dinner and all the attention. You'll have to be careful or I might fall in love with you."

Denny snorted and patted Alan's hand. "You already have. I don't mind."

Alan felt his heart lurch. It was not as unpleasant as he'd thought it was.

"It's perfectly understandable. I'm Denny Crane!" Denny chortled. "And I love you too."

"Denny," asked Alan after a while. "Remind me again, how exactly is our marriage a sham?"

"Easy," said Denny, snuggling down on the sofa more comfortably and submitting to a yawn. "It's a _sham_ sham. A beautiful idea, don't you think?"

"The best." Alan smiled. Turned out the line he'd been dreading had been crossed a long time ago, and yet somehow it had changed nothing.

He lifted his bottle in salute and Denny clinked it with his. They downed their drinks and soon after went to bed.


End file.
